


Grievance for Wilbur

by MYCELLIUMS



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Minecraft Dream Team
Genre: Angst, Ghost Wilbur Soot, Inspired by Music, Minecraft, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:01:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27887965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MYCELLIUMS/pseuds/MYCELLIUMS
Summary: The day has come, insanity at its peak, survey the land and hold it in, don't make a peep.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	Grievance for Wilbur

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not compare my artwork to anyone else's', I know you might view it as a compliment but it brings my motivation lower. So refrain, otherwise feel free to comment on it <3

The scene laid clear, laid out clean, memories that aren’t around, people who lied uptown. He believed something so foolish and grim, something that led him by the hinge. Why was he, someone who didn’t have a vessel, on the ground where mortals fought their battles? What prompted his creation, his vessel which held his being, to vanish yet have his visions stand? Who let evenings dim as everyone took a stand, though they stood down rather fast, they didn’t even hold a memorial for a man who had just passed.

He had passed in front of his own father, he only remembered the stabbing and the screams as he fell backwards, his father cried out, wishing it wasn’t over so quickly. His memories were gone, as much as his sanity was gone when he reached his peak of insanity. 

Were these last years even real? What battles were fought, which were won which were lost? How did a man, who stood with the most power, end up dying for his foolish morals, ones that crushed the path he walked on.

Was his son really foolish, was his best friend, his brother, the one who stood by his side when he formed his own government, a place of freedom and no exploitment, was he really the one, to go and flee, away from him? Just run away as if the former was a simple little flea?

Anger filled his veins, anger-fueled his thoughts, his movements, all the waves, every single second, it grew even larger, but no, not anger, not just yet. He wasn’t angry, he wasn’t disappointed, he was fearing for his life not because he held no trust in others. No, he didn’t trust himself, not even with a petal.

So he picked up the cornflower, he crushed into bits and pieces, stirring and crumbling. He held the dye, close to his heart, he knew the meaning of the colours, all from red to indigo, blue is one he knows the most, he felt the colours meaning for much of his younger life. 

Colours carry a message, they convey unspoken words and things actions couldn’t even begin to unfold. They show the true soul, not the vessel which lays on the outside, oh no. Much more profound than that, it’s so scary to even fathom that but try at least. Look into colour, you see the vessel from inside out, the viewer’s images, imagery and land about, take a more in-depth look at this one colour, it holds something so vital, something big. Take that look, make it bigger, look deeper, more rigid, please this man, we all knew him, we all beg for him, we plead. This man is one you and I both know, his names Wilbur Fucking Soot and now it’s too late, he’s gone.

**Author's Note:**

> Currently, this is the only bit of this story I have, when I have written enough that satisfies me I will turn it into a book, possibly a novel, give me time, please do not rush me.


End file.
